Article posted June 7, 2012 at 08:49 AM GMT-5 •
comment • Reads 536
Now, let me start by saying, that my step mom, Maria, isn’t the best chef in the world.
But one night, when I was just five years old, Maria announced, “I’ve decided to make tacos for dinner tonight, and I’m going to invite the Bounties!” They are my friend’s family who lived next store to us. My dad looked at her kind of funny, almost as if he was waiting to hear the catch because she never cooks.
Well, when our gests came in, and we were all sitting at the table, my dad asked, “Why aren’t you taking the tacos out of the oven?”
“Oh, don’t worry, I just checked! They need a few more minutes.”
“Are you sure?” My dad asked.
“Of course I’m sure!” You need to realize!”
So, we were all sitting at the table, every one was getting hungry when suddenly. . .the fire alarm went off!
“OK, fine!” said Maria. “Maybe they were a little over cooked!”
But when we went in to the kitchen every one realized that they were VERY over cooked!
“Oh, my god!”
The oven was completely on fire!
Enreco, my friend's dad, came running in with a fire extinguisher, and he covered the whole kitchen with it!
After that I had to stay at my friend’s house for the night.
And now we know, never over cook tacos!
Article posted June 7, 2012 at 08:49 AM GMT-5 •
comment • Reads 536
Article posted April 26, 2012 at 10:09 AM GMT-5 •
comment • Reads 302
First Day...
Excited,
No,
Scared.
No, that's not right, I was feeling brave!
That's how I felt the first day at M.A.S.
In the back seat of the car
Not knowing what to expect
It seemed so lonesome
Teachers getting ready to start the new year
Saw kids running,
Hugging,
Meeting up with friends
I felt all by myself,
No one to lean on
My mom walked me up to my class room
I reached my class room
Took a deep breth,
And walked in
I didn't know what to do
I found my seat
I worked from there
And look at me now!
I feel like M.A.S is my home!
Great friends,
In the school play,
And much more.
Article posted April 26, 2012 at 10:09 AM GMT-5 •
comment • Reads 302
Article posted March 26, 2012 at 12:59 PM GMT-5 •
comment • Reads 252
Galaxies are mysteries of the sky, all unique in their own way. Come explore with me about galaxies, our Milky Way, and more.
Now, you might be wondering how galaxies are made. Just, how did they appear in our universe? Well, I’m here to answer your questions. Galaxies are made up of stars, dust, and crumpled up pieces of rock from space. Now, there are three different types of galaxies. The first type is called resular galaxies. They don’t always have the same shape. In fact, no one can tell what shape they are because they are always different! They contain very young stars and lots of dust and rock. The second kind of galaxies are called spiral galaxies. As you might have guessed, are shaped like spirals. Our Milky Way is a spiral galaxies. They contain middle aged stars with a medium amount of dust and gas. The third type of galaxies are called Elipticed galaxies. They don’t always have the same shape, but they usually are in the shape of a circle or an oval.
Now that you’ve learned the basics of galaxies, here are some facts for you that you can go home today and say to your parents, “Hey mom! Guess what I learned today!” and have her not know the answer! Or, quiz your older brother right before his science! Did you know that there is almost always a black hole in the middle of a galaxy? Our Milky Way has one, too. So don’t go walking into the Milky Way any time soon! Or, gravity is always pushing galaxies either away or closer to one another? (But they are usually getting pushed away.)
Hope you learned about galaxies with me!
Article posted March 26, 2012 at 12:59 PM GMT-5 •
comment • Reads 252
Article posted March 1, 2012 at 09:45 AM GMT-5 •
comment • Reads 179
Return To The Moon!
Now, before I tell you what I did there, I’m going to be telling you about some of the Buehler Science Center’s history.
The Buehler Science Center was built in honor of the challenger mission in 1086. It is made for kids to experience going to the moon. Kids get to experience what the astronauts experienced when they were going to the moon. There a six teams, one of each in mission control and one in space craft. Before you go there each student will fill out a job aplacation, saying which jobs you want and which ones you think you will be good at. Then when you find out what job you’re going to be doing, you start training for that job.
When I joined my class in the Buehler Science Center, I was part of the Remote Team. It was very confusing, and I don’t think I was good at it, and I don’t think it exactly fit me, but I’m still glad I went.
My responsibilities on the remote team when I was on space craft, was I would use the glove box, which is a place just for the Remote Team where you wear special gloves and test things, and then you analyze it and give it to the data team, and they sent it to mission control. When you are in Mission Control, you get the data from the space craft and you record it on a data log. And you find information on a computer special for what kind of work you need to do.
I think the most important part of my job was just following directions. Just because if you forget a little detail, you might mess up the whole thing.
If I had a change to fly again, I would change my team, because I wasn’t good at it, and I think someone else would do a better job than me. After seeing what all the teams were like, I’d think I’d think I’d be best at communication, data, or medical.
Over all, I had a good experience there, and I learned about space. You can also have birthday parties there, and there’s an awesome gift shop! So, go try it out, and you might have fun!
Article posted March 1, 2012 at 09:45 AM GMT-5 •
comment • Reads 179
Article posted January 23, 2012 at 10:01 AM GMT-5 •
comment • Reads 354
The story “the dot,” is about a girl named Vashti. She thought and said she couldn’t draw. Her art teacher told her just to make a mark and see where it takes her. When Vashti jabs her pencil on the paper, she asks her to sign it. Vashti says, “Well, maybe I can’t draw but I CAN sign my name.” Then when she had art class the next week, she was surprised to see the dot she had drawn hanging above her art teacher’s desk. It was her dot, all framed in swirly gold. When she saw it, she thought to her self, “Hmmph! I can make a better dot than that!” She made a beautiful piece of all different colored dots. When it got a very big “splash” at the art show, Vashti saw a younger boy gazing up at her. “You’re a really good artist,” he said, “I wish I could draw.” Then Vashti said, “I bet you can.” “No, not me, I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler.” “Show me.” She said. She then looked at the squiggle line and said tothe boy, “Now sign it.”
When I re-read “the dot” more carefully, I thought it was all about determination. Determination comes up throughout the book: First, Vashti’s art teacher is determined to show her that she can be a really good artist if she puts her mind to it. When Vashti sees her dot hanging above her art teacher’s desk, she is very determined to make better art, and is starting to have confidence in her self. Then, at the art show when everyone loves her “dot” painting, she has a lot of confidence in her self. Then when she sees the little boys gazing up at her and telling her how good of an artist she is, she’s determined to teach the little boy the same lesson her art teacher taught her.
As I said before, when I re-read “the dot” I thought it was about determination. It shows when Vashti got very determined to do something and she stuck with it, she got very good at it. I just started doing horseback riding. I remember after my second lesson telling my mom it was too hard. I didn’t want to do it anymore even though I really liked doing it, and I love horses. Then my mom told me that I’m never going to get good at it if I don’t try. My horseback riding teacher told me it’s just like if you went in to kindergarden and they gave me algebra homework. I went back and felt more confident, and now I love horseback riding. The lesson my mom taught me reminded me of the lesson Vashti’s art teacher taught her and the lesson Vashti taught to the boy: You’ll never get good at something if you don’t put you’re mind to it.
Who knows what you’ll try and you might find a love and talent you never knew was there if you’re determined!
Article posted January 23, 2012 at 10:01 AM GMT-5 •
comment • Reads 354
Article posted November 28, 2011 at 09:46 AM GMT-5 •
comment (1) • Reads 492
I think I Broke Something!
Most people who have never broken bones before probably don’t understand how painful it can be --especially when people don’t even believe you! Now, I know what you’re thinking. What is this girl talking about? Well, you’re in the right place, and I’m here to tell you what I’m talking about.
I was having a pretty good day at camp. We were all laughing at each other because we were all soaking wet in our bathing suits because we had just gotten out of the pool. We were getting nearer to a flight of stairs. I wasn’t really paying attention.
“AAAAAAAAAA!” I screamed.
I heard a crack and then a thump as my head hit the floor. Before I knew what had happened, I stared to cry. Not just cry, I was screaming on the ground, moaning like a baby. I could feel the pain running up my ankle into my bones like needless. I had never experienced so much pain in my life. It was agony. All the kids started to crowd around me as my mind went fuzzy. I could tell everyone was trying to get closer.
“SunshineSparkle!” Someone called somewhere to the right. Or was it the left?
“SunshineSparkle! Are you OK, SunshineSparkle?”
A nearby counselor was walking by. A bunch of girls went running up to him, all of them trying to be the one to tell the counselor what had happened. When he heard what had happened, he ran over to me, telling kids to move out of the way who hadn’t run over to him and the kids who were now trying to run back to the spot where I was laying in front of him. When he got over to me, the kids re-formed the circle, now around the consular and me.
As he tried to touch my ankle to examine it, I screamed, “No-don’t-STOP!”
The counselor seemed to realize this situation was more serious then he thought. He raised his eyebrow and reached down and picked me up.
Now, can you imagine how annoying this was getting? He started carrying me somewhere I didn’t know! Finally, I saw we were heading for the nurse's office. I had never been in the nurse’s office before. It felt strange that this was the first reason for me to go to the nurse’s office because most people go because they have a tiny scratch or have a bruised knee.
The counselor I didn’t know laid me down in a sitting position on the nurse's table. The nurse, after having a conversation with the counselor she obviously knew, then very carefully picked up my ankle. I winced at the touch of her cold, nurse like hand, and she elevated it on a soft pillow. I gave a sigh of relief. Then she disappeared behind her nurse’s closet for a few moments, rummaged a bit, then somehow got an ice pack and placed it on my ankle. Its coldness felt good on my ankle now that it was so swollen it looked like there was a minnie sour apple on my ankle.
Now, I know this might not sound that bad, but I was in so much pain! I kept moaning without really meaning to when the nurse asked me, “So, what exactly happened?”
I felt like this was kind of a silly question, but I told her everything I remembered. I finished talking to see that she was going to call my mom or to take me home or something like that. But she just looked confused like the counselor. W was wrong with them? She looked like she thinking about what she had just heard.
Then she said in a matter-of-fact sort of way, “Ok, you can go home.”
“What!” I yelled without trying to raise my temper. “I-I” I sputtered. “I think I broke something!”
I had clearly not realized the nurse was not that nice. Without any other arguement, I tried to hoist myself off the nurse's table, but once again the counselor lifted me off the table but did nothing more. They watched me leave, limping, struggling under the now much heavier weight of my camp bags, my clothes still wet from the swimming pool.
When I got to the bus, I took the first seat I could find. I was always the last one to get dropped off. I propped my ankle up on the seat and thought how I couldn’t wait to get home to my mom and tell her what had happened.
About an hour later, when the bus driver reached my apartment, the bus driver motioned to my mom to come on the bus. I usually walk on to the street and meet my mom there. When the bus driver told my mom what had happened, she looked horror struck. I started to limp off the bus, scared to put any weight on my right ankle, struggling over the weight of my camp bags. My mom ran into the bus and took my bags for me, and put my arm around her shoulder. My mom thanked the bus driver for taking care of me and telling her what happened and than half carried me, half helped me off the bus stairs into the lobby of our apartment.
When she got me up the elevator and into our apartment, she put my ankle up on the couch and got an ice pack for it. After that, my mom asked me again had happened. Again, just like I had told the nurse, I told my mom as much as I remembered.
When I finished talking and looked up at her to say something, she nodded and then said in a very motherly sort of way, “OK," and shook her head much nicer than the nurse had said it.
When she went into the kitchen, she started calling someone. When he answered, I realized it was my step-dad, Nick. When she got off the phone, she told me that Nick said he was coming home from work to come and see me as soon as he got off the phone.
(He worked about two blocks away from our house.)
When she sat back down on the other end of the couch, the pain somehow started again like the needles had given me a long enough rest and was started up again, having another race up my ankle. Without really meaning to, I started to cry again.
When Nick got home from work about five minutes later, he asked what had happened even though my mom had told him over the phone. I thought he just wanted to hear me say it. I looked at my mom for help. I didn’t want to re-tell the story again. My mom seemed to get the message, but Nick seemed to also. But than I realized something: Nick would believe me. So, I told Nick the whole story, from when we got out of the pool to that very moment. That time I really tried hard to remember everything that happened.
When I finished, I looked at Nick, trying to find his mysterious expressions. He seemed to be thinking over what I had just said. Then, finally, he said, “It probably just has to rest.”
I was suddenly so mad I forgot about my ankle hurting me. Than I said, not caring about my tone of voice, “I BROKE MY ANKLE!”
Well, anyway, you might think this is the end of the story, but it's not. My birthday was coming up, so Nick put my ankle in an ace bandage for me. A few days later, when I was still nagging my mom to get an x-ray to see if my ankle was broken, my parents agreed.
My ankle WAS BROKEN!
After that, I had to have over a year of physical therapy and my right ankle, it's still a bit swollen, and it’s always been my week ankle. Now it will never be the same.
Article posted November 28, 2011 at 09:46 AM GMT-5 •
comment (1) • Reads 492
